Mark of Death
by ice shredder
Summary: I can make all the pain go away. "You promise?" Yes. I can give you peace. Rest. You need rest boy. Tag to 10x22 slight mention of 10x23. T for bloody images and Dean's mouth. ENJOY!


**Disclaimer: As usual I don't own this awesome show.**

 **One-shot set after 10x22 spoilers for 10x23 promo.**

 **A/N: Guys this is probably the darkest I've ever seen Dean and I really hope the writers don't pull a last minute save (a la Rowena) with the Book of the Damned. The Boys' obsessive all-consuming need to keep each other alive has finally reached its boiling point with Charlie's death and (for the most part) Sam's long history of being unable to take orders. What we're seeing now is 10 years worth of long overdue consequences. I know. It's painful to watch. I can't help but think the Trickster/Gabriel nailed it on the head with his eerily prophetic speech to Sam in "Mystery Spot". Brilliant foreshadowing we're now witnessing as an out-of-control train about to derail.**

 **Anyway enjoy guys! Reviews are love!**

Dean drove like a maniac away from the Bunker pushing Baby to the limit but no matter how fast he went he couldn't outrun the Mark's eternal thirst for _blood blood blood-_

His clothes were spattered in it. Ditto his face and arms and hands and under his fingernails. Slaughtering the Stynes wasn't enough he needed wanted _craved_ more _blood-_

Bodies strewn all over the hard floor, ripped open by rage even an innocent kid who-

 _No. No innocents. They're monsters. Kill 'em. Kill them all, they deserved it every last one of them, they killed one of us, more...more...I need MORE..._

 _You left the angel alive dumbass. Supposed to gank him, I wanted to see his blood pouring outta his pathetic shell but YOU pussied out._

Dean stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel. _I know. I'm sor-_

 _Sorry ain't gonna cut it! You're a killing machine! An unstoppable force of nature and ya can't even waste two sniveling maggots because they looooove you. Now they ain't gonna stop until they 'cure' ya._

He made a brief stop at a light. Wishing he could just blow through. It was annoying. A restraint. Just like the college boy. And the angel. He really really _really_ hated restraints. Which was why he was working on breaking every single one of them.

He remembered all the times the angel beat him up. When the college boy shot him and left him to die. When said boy walked away from the family business, when the angel wheeled and dealed with demons behind his back, when he foolishly went to Stanford because he was lonely and couldn't do a simple job on his own, when he pulled the puppy dog out of the fire and now wished he'd let him die that night. Woulda spared himself and the world a whole lotta trouble.

 _"We're gonna save you Dean we're_ _gonna_ _cure ya, we're gonna saaave yoooou, we're gonna cuuuure yoooou." Save you, cure you, save ya-even though he didn't want it-they didn't care what HE wanted oh no, gotta pull him back before he burns the world to the ground...mmmm sounds fantastic. Blood and fire and smoke. Death, so much death he'd be swimming in oceans of blood-_

A harsh snort escaped his lips. What, then everything would return to normal and it'd be all sunshine and unicorns? Yeah right.

God. Those two idiots sounded like a lame-ass chick flick movie with the worst case of John/Marsha syndrome in the history of _ever_. And if he was being honest with himself, it was getting old. Fast.

Knife clenched in his hand (so bright, so pretty and so very, very SHARP) slammed into a book inches from a dark head of hair and crumpled blue eyes with a heavily bruised , _bloody_ face...streaming everywhere... _so pretty...so beautiful..._

" _You and Sam stay the hell away from me. Next_ _time I won't miss."_

Dean grunted. Punched the gas. Stupid gnat, stupid stupid stupid fools, _I don't wanna be saved but that idiot Sam don't know when to stop._

 _He lied to you._

A spurt of hot rage surged through his veins. Feeding the Mark. Feeding its (his) power. Making him stronger.

Harder.

Faster.

Powerful.

 _Unstoppable._

I know.

 _They got the girl killed._

Dean nearly swerved off the road. Tried to ignore the churning in his gut and burning eyes. The girl. How could he forget? The geeky little sister. The hacker genius. The LARPing queen. The hunter-

No.

 _No._

Do not think about the girl. Don't think about her dark, red _(beautiful)_ sticky blood, splashed all over some skeezy motel's bathroom floor, lying sprawled in the tub...her head canted back...looked like she was just sleeping but wasn't...Don't think about the hunter's burial...the flames greedily devouring her shrouded body-

 _All their fault._

 _Bastards._

 _They'll PAY for that-_

 _Uh hello. The Stynes are DEAD genius. The angel and your brother-_

Dean shook his head. _No. He ain't my brother. NOT my friend-_

 _Who, need I remind you...ARE. STILL. ALIVE._

 _I meant what I said._

 _You'd better cause I'm holdin' ya to it._

God his head was killing him, arguing with the Mark was tiring and his body protested the slightest bump and hole. He had to find a motel to crash for the night. Anywhere.

 _When you see those two again, which you will-_

Yes?

 _Kill them. No questions asked. No waffling. No doubts._

I understand-

 _No. You don't. You gave them hope._

My hand slipped. Won't happen again, I promise-

 _Hope is bad. You are Murder incarnate. Cain's heir._

Dean spotted a dive motel and pulled into the lot. Parked in front of a grey hotel door with 336 in faded black numbers.

Yes.

 _Give yourself over. Stop fighting. You're only making the pain worse._

He rested his forehead against the wheel. He might be 36 but his aches and pains belonged to an 80 year old war veteran.

 _I can make it all go away._

Dean glanced at his reflection in the passenger window. The Mark was right. He looked haggard. Worn. Pale. Tired. A shell of his former cocky, robust self. And his body felt even worse.

"You promise?"

He sounded four years old again.

Lost.

Weak.

Afraid.

 _Yes. Let me give you peace. Rest. You need rest boy._

He hated to admit it but that was looking more and more attractive. Peace. Rest. Both had eluded him most of his life, but now...

It was being offered to him.

And the only moments he found them was when he was coated in _blood-_

Blood.

Red, like roses.

Blood was good. It soothed his soul. Quieted his mind. Muted the world.

Numbed the _pain._ That was the _best._

Sometimes that peace was interruped by what sounded like a badly garbled radio station in his mind. Screams and cries for mercy _to stop, please stop don't kill me please, have mercy, spare us, forgive us, don't do it, pleeeeeeease-_

"I'm so tired of fighting," Dean mumbled not caring if he was talking to himself. "I've had it losing people I care about ( _Charlie, forgive your big brother, I'm so sorry, never shoulda dragged ya into this life kiddo_ ). I don't wanna be saved. They can take their 'cure' and shove it up their asses."

 _Will you embrace me boy? Fully? Completely?_

Dean climbed out of the car. Stood with one hand on the door. Then he bent at the waist till he saw his reflection in the glass, slightly distorted.

"Yes. I'm yours."

Instantly all his aches and pains were replaced by a soothing warmth, like a bottle of whiskey spreading its heat through his soul. Dispelling the cold, the doubt, the struggle.

Just like the Mark promised it would. _**It**_ didn't lie, unlike his sneaky, lying, two-faced brother and that annoying dick angel-

 _Can't believe I was pathetic enough to call them my family._

He walked toward the hotel office to rent a room. Listened as the Mark praised him.

 _Wise choice boy._

Dean Winchester was dead and a monster walked the world.

 **-end**


End file.
